


Hold My Breath

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Corsetry, M/M, Panic Attacks, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: “This sex thing is a problem for you, huh?" Roman said. “I was thinking about it and I had an idea. If you wanted to try again.”





	

The first time Roman tried to fuck him it just happened. Dean wasn’t sure why; just knew he’d been squirming underneath Roman’s hands for almost twenty minutes when it started to go sideways. Roman wasn’t hurting him, it felt good, but it was too much good. Overwhelming and sensory flooding good. Bad good.

That sort of thing happened before, even in bed, but never with someone he couldn’t break from, ditch immediately and never call again. It hadn’t even occurred to him it might happen with Roman. Roman was supposed to be safe.

Roman did move smooth. Rolled them over so that Dean was on top of him as soon as he noticed Dean’s discomfort. And he noticed fast, at almost the same time Dean did. The slight variations of Dean’s shudders and gasps spoke volumes to Roman, like he could measure the salinity of the tears in Dean’s eyes. He let Dean catch his breath against the side of his neck and then kissed him lazily until Dean’s heart stopped pounding.

They ground on each other like teenagers, coming sticky and hot between their bodies. 

The second time Dean panicked. 

That was on him. He got too in his head about what had happened before. Roman didn’t even have his pants off before Dean was shaking and breathing heavy. They were just standing up in front of the bed and Roman was behind him, one hand down the back of his underwear and Dean went from pushing back against him to shaking out of his grip. He was flailing, wild fists and closed eyes. Roman didn’t let him go, wrapped his arms around Dean. First his shoulders then lower as Dean tried to shake him. Lower and lower across his chest and stomach until he had both arms wrapped tight around the narrowest part of Dean’s waist and Dean had gone still.

“Shh,” Roman told him and Dean hushed. Dean swallowed. Dean leaned back against Roman and let Roman’s tight embrace ground him into his body. That felt good. Good good and comforting. 

But Roman couldn’t get into him like that. The angle was all wrong. Roman gave a half hearted attempt, but then he just started kissing and sucking the side of Dean’s neck and jerking him off slow and sweet while he said truly filthy disgusting things. Things like, “I got you,” and “I’m here, baby. I’m here. Lean against me.” Things like. “I love you. I love you. You’re so pretty when you come.”

After that, Roman didn’t try to fuck him anymore. Oh, they fooled around plenty. Slept cuddled up together, Roman’s head on Dean’s stomach. Jumped into each other’s showers. Roman was good about getting down on his knees, sliding his hands around Dean’s hips and sucking Dean off. Usually Dean was more than happy to return the favor. But Roman didn’t try for anything more. Wasn’t worth the trouble, Dean supposed.

Roman was nice about it. So nice. So sweet and understanding and mature. Didn’t push. Didn’t bitch. Didn’t even mention it. 

So of course Dean got pissed off and picked a fight with him at one in morning. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Roman finally snapped after a ten minute tirade straight from Dean’s insecurities.

“Are you new?” Dean had hollered back. Then he marched out of their shared hotel room with his duffel bag over one shoulder and slept the rest of the night in Xavier Woods’s bathtub.

He should have known. Should have realized. It was Roman after all, king of the long game. Roman who set himself up for a duel championship run, pitting allies against each other and smiling through those booing crowds. Dean left to do a show and got his face kicked in so good it bloomed red stinging roses on his cheeks the whole night. Came back after two days of no phone calls with his tail between his legs. He watched the last half hour of Roman’s fight on a tv back stage, then waited for the crowd to thin out before going to look for Roman. He found him alone, wet from a shower and swollen all over from hits and falls.

Roman shoved him against the locker room wall and Dean didn’t shove back. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you coming back with me?” Roman asked and Dean nodded, looking down in embarrassment so that Roman had to grab his chin and force it up to look into his eyes. 

“Good,” Roman said. “I missed you.”

“Can’t see why.”

Roman chuckled, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t.” 

Dean watched him towel off. There was something infinitely comforting about seeing Roman’s body. All of Roman in front of him, naked and exposed. Roman pulled on some clothes and raised an arm, let Dean slip in underneath his jacket and stand for a moment close to Roman’s heat.

They went to Roman’s hotel and slipped up the back elevator to his room. Roman’s belongings were scattered here and there but the bed was freshly made and inviting. Roman let out a sigh when they had the door shut and locked behind them and pulled Dean into another close embrace.

“I wanna be here for you,” Roman was saying as he traced his hands up under Dean’s t-shirt. “I wanna know what’s bugging you. Wanna try to help.”

“Don’t bother,” Dean said. 

“This sex thing is a problem for you, huh?”

“Jesus,” Dean said and made a move as if he would pull away. Roman urged him to stay still. His palms were gentle against Dean’s back.

“I was thinking about it,” Roman went on. “I had an idea. If you wanted to try again.”

“What idea?”

Roman moved his hands again, leaning forward to take Dean in that low, tight embrace around his waist. “That feels good,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a question, but Dean answered him anyway.

“Yeah. Steady. Good good.”

“‘Good good?’ As opposed to?”

Dean sighed, heavily. 

“Dean?”

“Bad good.” He felt like an idiot.

Roman looked at Dean for a moment in curiosity. “Is there a good bad and a bad bad too?” He shook his head. “Sorry. Later.” Roman released him. But there was and Dean knew the fact of it was showing on his face. He felt a surge of awkward delight, the possibility of understanding. 

On the other side of the room, Roman dug in his suitcase for a while before pulling out a wide, shallow cardboard box. He brought it back to Dean, presented it to him. “I picked this up,” Roman said and Dean glanced at his steely face before lifting the lid.

At first Dean thought it was a t-shirt, then one of those body armor vests Roman used to wear. He discarded a layer of tissue paper and pulled the garment out of the box, finding long laces running up its back and channels of ribbing between the pieces layers. 

“Corset,” Dean said as the word came to him. “Isn’t this is a girl thing?”

“Well, you’re not a girl.” 

Dean made a face but accepted Roman’s smile. The piece was black, not exactly frilly but intricate looking with its many panels and stitches, grommets and laces.

“ Will you try it?” Roman asked.

“I don’t think I can put it on myself.”

Roman chuckled. “You’re not putting it on. _I’m_ putting it on _you_. That’s the whole point.” He snuck the crook of his index finger under the hem of Dean’s shirt and began to tug it upward over Dean’s head. Dean shrugged the fabric off and let Roman slip the corset onto him. The inner satin fabric was cool against his skin.

He ran his hands down his chest, stroking his fingers over the row of tiny metal clasps. Roman adjusted the corset and, moving to Dean’s back, began to tighten the laces so that the garment would fit properly. He pulled hard, hard enough for Dean to stagger and have to plant his feet and put one hand on the foot of the hotel bed. Hard enough for him to gulp for air as the stiff fabric constricted his stomach.

“Breathe with your chest,” Roman advised him and pulled the strings tighter.

He did. Slow shallow breaths that raised his pectorals up and down. It made his head feel fuzzy. Calm.

Roman spent time and attention getting the corset on tight and straight. 

“How’s that feel?” he asked, giving it a final tug and then coming around to test the gap at Dean’s breastplate.

“Tight,” Dean said. Roman raised an eyebrow. “Not bad,” Dean went on. “Nice. Just tight.” He tried to bend for his shoes and found he couldn’t. “Should have took my boots off.”

Roman smiled. “Let me.” He took a knee in front of Dean and knelt to untie Dean’s laces. Looking down at his face made Dean swallow. 

Roman stripped off Dean’s shoes and socks and then went for his belt and fly, pulling his pants down so that Dean could step out of them. His underwear were all the wrong color, bright red boxer briefs. He hadn’t been thinking about costume coordination. 

Roman didn’t seem to notice. Rising back to his feet he pressed up against Dean’s body, stooping to press his forehead to Dean’s face. Undressed, the corset felt even tighter, like it was growing to restrain his whole body.

“This it?” Dean asked, trying to be bitter beneath the pleasant haze that was settling down on him, starting in his constricted stomach and flooding into his limbs. “This gonna fix all my problems?”

“Nah,” Roman admitted. He pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. “But it might help with this one. And I’m gonna keep my eye on you. We’ll go nice and slow.” He ran a hand down Dean’s front, barely felt under the heavy corset fabric and then hot and vivid on the outside of his underwear. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. 

They kissed and Dean had to learn how to make out all over again, learn the new rhythm of inhalation that would keep him from gasping, the arch of his spine that the corset would allow. He took off Roman’s clothes, pawing at fabric and tugging at buttons until Roman was stripped and pulling Dean back onto the bed, onto his lap

“God,” Roman said, running his palms down Dean’s sides to his hips. “Your little waist.”

“Was that your master plan?”

“No,” Roman said. “But I like it.” He leaned his forehead briefly against Dean’s chest, then tugged down the waistband of Dean’s underwear. Dean put hands on Roman’s face, found he couldn’t thrust forward but he could cycle his hips in slow circles to rub his painfully hard cock against Roman’s stomach. Roman grinned at him, wrapped his arms all the way around Dean’s back, pulling Dean in tight.

Roman’s hands were all over him, up and down his back, in his hair, rubbing a sweaty palm against his cock and then sliding around to press at his hole, to grind his ass down against Roman’s hard on. Now Roman was the one panting, trying so hard to keep his eyes open and failing. He pushed Dean to his feet to get this underwear all the way off him, pulled him back, did it again to reach for the lube beside the bed, dropped it. Wet and slick everywhere on Dean’s thighs and cock and on Roman’s hands as they reached for Dean. A finger on each hand up to the knuckle and Dean was feeling fireworks but not seeing them and not losing the slow shallow pattern of his breathing. He looked down and widened his eyes, strangely and vividly aware of Roman, of his body and his breath and the look in his eyes.

Roman shuddered, spread Dean’s thighs wide and then started to push between them. His hand felt huge and hot underneath Dean’s ass, the tight grip bunching up the muscles in his back, scraping his skin across the corset hem. Dean felt hollow and empty and then, with the head of Roman’s cock pushing into him, achingly full.

“Slow,” Roman was telling him. “Slow, slow.” Dean didn’t want to go slow but he didn't have a choice. Roman’s hands kept him sinking gentle millimeter by millimeter down the length of Roman’s cock. Each movement sparking through him completely. A swift thrust would have faded in a grunt or spasm but Roman stayed still and easy and the burn of him was agonizing relief, the same sweet pleasure as slowly picking off a bandage.

Roman groaned, blindly turning his face upward for Dean to kiss. All the curve Dean could make was in his neck and shoulders, so he lingered softly above Roman’s face, grazing his lip with his mouth and tongue.

“You good?” Roman was asking him, voice tight and desperate, and Dean had the sudden, hot, shuddering realization that he had more self control than Roman in that moment.

“I’m perfect,” Dean said, getting his weight on his knees so that he could rise and fall against the thrusts Roman had started to make into his body. “I’m so good.”

Roman brought one hand down hard against the cloth on Dean’s hip and used the balance between his hands to guide Dean up and down, up and down, bouncing him against Roman’s thighs. He could feel the corset try to fall, stopped by the constriction of his skin. He could feel everything, every rock and jostle, and he could see what was happening without panic blurring his eyes.

“Your tiny little waist,” Roman moaned. “Your sweet tight ass.”

The long riding strokes nailing him deep. So good, but the fact that Dean could get his hands around it, could feel it all through his body without losing himself, that was even better. He looked down at the tension in Roman’s face, the breath Roman was holding and saw the crest of pleasure break and Roman pressing up in a final thrust to come hot and wet inside him. And then a moment later coming hard himself, trying to gasp and the corset keeping him breathless, trying to collapse and the corset holding him upright as he rocked down on Roman’s pelvis until his orgasm hit him like a wall.

“Yeah?” Roman asked him later, taking his time to undo the all the long laces with gentle fingers. “You liked it?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He did like it. The care and control. The containment and pressure. Roman’s devoted attention and then after, in the bathroom, all the red marks etched for hours onto his skin.


End file.
